Chapter 24 #2
“Shut up and strip,” I reply, rolling my eyes to hide the heat that rises to my cheeks. “Or I’ll call Ares back to do it for you.”
Smile still lingering, Logan begins unbuttoning his shirt, his movements careful and controlled.
The sight of him steals my breath for a moment. His torso is a canvas of bruises, purple and black against his tanned skin. The worst of it centers on his right side, where a massive contusion spreads from his lower ribs almost to his hip.
“Gods,” I breathe, moving closer without thinking. “What happened?”
“Car crash,” Logan says, his voice tight with pain as I gently probe the injury. “Willam’s men ran us off the road. Then there was the fight itself. He got in a few good hits before I put him down.”
I work in silence for a few minutes, cleaning small cuts, applying salve to the worst of the bruising.
My fingers move with a confidence that surprises me—when did I become so comfortable with this?
With touching him, with caring for his injuries?
When did the fear that once defined our interactions give way to this strange, tentative trust?
“This is going to hurt,” I warn as I prepare to wrap his ribs. “I need to bind them pretty tight if you want the breaks to heal cleanly.”
Logan nods, bracing himself. “Do what you need to do.”
I work quickly but carefully, wrapping the bandage around his torso with firm, even pressure. Logan’s breathing remains steady despite what must be significant pain, his discipline impressive even to my critical eye.
“There,” I say, securing the end of the bandage. “That should help with the pain and prevent further injury. Now let me see your face.”
Logan tilts his head back, allowing me better access to the damage there. His nose is definitely broken—swollen and slightly crooked beneath the bandage. The bruising around his eyes has deepened, giving him a raccoon-like appearance that would be almost comical if it weren’t so painful-looking.
“I need to clean this,” I say, dampening a cloth with antiseptic. “It’s going to sting.”
“I’m familiar with the sensation,” he replies dryly.
I work in silence, cleaning the cuts on his face with gentle efficiency.
This close, I can smell him beneath the antiseptic and dried blood—bitter clove and something darker, richer.
The scent that once terrified me now brings a strange comfort, a familiarity I hadn’t realized I’d missed during our separation.
“You’re good at this,” Logan observes as I apply a fresh bandage to his nose. “Where did you learn?”
“Necessity,” I reply, focusing on my task to avoid meeting his eyes. “The doctor—Thane—he didn’t exactly provide medical care after his... procedures. I had to learn to treat myself.”
Logan goes very still beneath my hands, a tension radiating from him that has nothing to do with physical pain. “Maya,” he says, his voice rough with an emotion I can’t quite identify. “I’m sorry.”
The simple apology catches me off guard. “For what?”
“For chasing you away a year ago. For not protecting you from him. For...” He trails off, swallowing hard. “For everything you endured because I wasn’t there.”
I pull back slightly, studying his face. There’s no artifice in his expression, no calculation. Just raw, genuine regret that takes me by surprise.
“It wasn’t your responsibility to protect me,” I say carefully. “I never asked for your protection.”
“No,” he agrees, his golden eyes holding mine. “You never asked for anything from me. Not protection, not the bond, not any of this.”
The acknowledgment—so simple, so fundamental—steals my breath. Logan has never admitted so plainly that what he did was wrong, that he took choices from me that were never his to take.
“Then why did you do it?” I ask, the question that’s been burning inside me since that night. “Why force the bond when you knew I didn’t want it?”
Logan’s gaze doesn’t waver, though I see the struggle in his eyes—the battle between truth and self-preservation, between vulnerability and control.
“Because I was afraid,” he admits finally, the words seeming to cost him. “Afraid of losing you. Afraid of what would happen if I let you go. Afraid that without the bond, you’d never choose to stay.”
The honesty in his voice, the raw vulnerability beneath the words, catches me off guard. This isn’t the arrogant Alpha who claimed me against my will. This is someone else—someone wounded, flawed, human in a way I’ve never allowed myself to see before.
“And now?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. “Are you still afraid?”
“Terrified,” he says, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. “But for different reasons now.”
I wait, sensing there’s more he wants to say. Logan reaches up, his fingers brushing a strand of purple hair from my face with unexpected gentleness.
“Now I’m afraid that even with the bond, you’ll never forgive me,” he continues, his voice low. “That you’ll never see me as anything but the monster who took your choice away. And I’m afraid you’d be right to feel that way.”
The admission hangs between us, weighted with implications neither of us is ready to fully explore. I step back slightly, needing distance from the intensity of his gaze, from the emotions swirling between us through the bond.
“I don’t think you’re a monster,” I say finally, surprising myself with the truth of it.
“I think you’re someone who’s been trained your whole life to take what you want, to see the world as yours to command.
I think you’re trying to be better than that training, and sometimes you succeed, and sometimes you fail spectacularly. ”
A startled laugh escapes him, quickly cut off by a wince of pain. “That’s... remarkably insightful. And not entirely flattering.”
“It wasn’t meant to be flattering,” I reply, gathering the used bandages and disposing of them. “It was meant to be honest.”
Logan watches me, something thoughtful in his expression. “And honesty is important to you.”
“It’s all I have left,” I say, the words coming out sharper than intended.
“My body isn’t mine anymore—not with the bond, not after what Thane did to it.
My future isn’t mine to determine—not as an Omega in this world, not as part of this rebellion.
But my thoughts, my words? Those I can still control.
Those can still be true, even when nothing else is. ”
Logan absorbs this, his golden eyes never leaving my face. “I understand,” he says after a moment. “More than you might think.”
“Do you?” I challenge, unable to keep the skepticism from my voice. “You’re an Alpha. A prince. The world has been yours to command since the day you were born.”
“And yet I’ve never had a real choice,” he counters, surprising me with the bitterness in his tone.
“Not about who I am, not about what I do, not about who I—“ He cuts himself off, looking away.
“The trappings of power are not the same as freedom, Maya. I thought you of all people would understand that.”
The observation lands with unexpected force, challenging assumptions I’ve held about him—about all Alphas—since my earliest days at the Enclave. Is it possible that Logan, with all his privilege and power, feels as trapped by his designation as I do by mine?
“I never thought of it that way,” I admit, the honesty costing me less than expected.
“No one does,” Logan says, his voice tired but without rancor. “It’s easier to see the crown than the chains that come with it.”
We fall into silence, the metaphor hanging between us. I finish packing away the medical supplies, my mind turning over this new perspective, this glimpse of Logan I’ve never allowed myself to see before.
“You should meet with the Queen Mother before she gets impatient,” I say finally, returning to practical matters. “She’ll expect you to be at your sharpest, injuries or not.”
Logan nods, making no move to rise from the chair. “Thank you,” he says simply. “For this. For...” He gestures vaguely between us. “For talking to me like I’m a person, not just an Alpha to be feared or a prince to be obeyed.”
The gratitude in his voice, so unexpected and sincere, catches me off guard again. “You are a person,” I say, the words coming out softer than intended. “A frustrating, complicated, occasionally decent person.”
A genuine smile touches his lips, transforming his face despite the bruises and bandages. “I’ll take ‘occasionally decent’ as high praise, coming from you.”
Something has shifted between us—something fundamental that I can’t quite name. Not forgiveness, exactly. I’m not ready for that, not sure I’ll ever be ready for that. But understanding, perhaps. A glimpse beyond the masks we both wear, the roles we’ve been assigned by biology and circumstance.
A recognition that beneath the designations that divide us—Alpha and Omega, prince and subject, captor and captive—we might both be searching for the same thing.